


Gilded

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [27]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Pre-Quest, Smoochtober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: As falling snow envelops the world in a peaceful quiet, Frodo is finally able to fulfill fancies with Sam that he's held since spring.--A little homage toLavenderProse's Golden.





	Gilded

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary notes, this is something of an homage/my shot at a little follow-up to [LavenderProse's Golden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/692055), which was the first F/S story I ever read, and to this day is still one of my favorites. <3
> 
> Inspired by [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #27: Vampire Kiss (no supernatural bloodsuckers involved here, though; just a nip to the neck hard enough to leave a love bite), and [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/112710) for Kinktober, Day #28: Against a Wall.

There had been a time Frodo had felt less than amiable towards winter. The world was cold, on top of the wet chill of snow, and though it blanketed the world in a soft, white embrace, he felt everything was quieted far too much. He missed the singing of the birds, the buzz of bumblebees, but perhaps most of all he missed the _color_. There were pines and hollies about, certainly, but winter marked a distinct lack of cheerful yellows, gentle purples and energetic pinks. It was all so... faded.

It was now his first winter as Master of Bag End, about a month before Yule. He still missed all the colorful sights and sounds of the Shire in spring or summer, but for the lack of flora, he had realized it allowed for a pleasant and surprising turn of events.

Sam was no longer needed in the gardens, which permitted plenty of time to call him up to Bag End for... interior recreational activities. He was still needed for a few things at Number 3, as the Gaffer's joints got particularly bad in the winter, and the job of chopping firewood and shoveling the front path, typically fell to him or Sam. In spite of that, however, much more of his time than ever before, was now completely free for Sam to spend with Frodo – together – as they liked.

They were each sipping a glass of after-dinner wine, now, and though their talk was middling, casual Shire-talk – as it had been most of the evening – the paths their eyes wandered down spoke more than words. The warm glow of the fire turn Sam's hair a rose gold, and his skin a gilded copper, and Frodo believed more with each moment he'd look even more remarkable than now, if he were wearing no clothes at all.

As they'd been playing this game for more than two years, now, both of them knew quite well where the night was liable to end, but a pleasant daydream had taken root in Frodo's head in the springtime, of seducing Sam to his bed. Their first time in the apple orchard – on the eve of Frodo's 32nd birthday – had dissipated many barriers between them, and prompted bolder interactions with clearer intent (so long as they were still mindful of unwelcome eyes), but for that, it had been long since Frodo had last given his best charms a proper try at seduction.

He realized rather quickly, by the time Sam had pulled him into his lap, and begun unbuttoning his shirt to uncover more skin to kiss, tonight would not be a night in which his charms were very much needed.

Frodo's breeches were on the hearthrug by the time they stumbled up and down the hall to Frodo's room, leaving a hasty trail of discarded clothes in their wake. Once in the master bedroom (in which a cheerful fire already crackled, as Frodo had wanted his room to be far from chill if Sam indeed were to come in), Frodo's shirt still hung unbuttoned from his shoulders; the last scrap of clothes between them. It too, was quickly dispatched to the floor, and moments later Frodo found himself pressed against the wall, reliving the taste of the wine on Sam's lips as they kissed.

“Do you know,” Frodo struggled to swallow a groan, as Sam's lips trailed down his neck, “you taste like sunlight? Summer, here in winter.” Sam replied with a pleased 'mm', clearly appreciative of this line of talk. “My own Sun,” Frodo said with a gasp, arching his back into the nips Sam peppered over his neck, “here in my arms- while,” he glanced for a moment to one window, and saw – as he thought he might – a gentle snow falling beyond the glass, “while no other person-” another gasp, “-is so lucky as to have their own.”

Sam's kisses ran back over his cheek and to his mouth again, pausing their for breath and to look thoughtfully at Frodo's face. He was flushed, but from what, Frodo could not quite pinpoint. “Iffin I'm the Sun, then,” he murmured, cupping Frodo's cheek and caressing it, “why, you've got to be the Moon.” he dropped his gaze, suddenly, shyly, to their feet. “My Moon.”

“Yes,” Frodo's words became interspersed with more kisses, and he pressed his hips against Sam's, causing them both to moan, “yes, your Moon.” This time, as their arms twined around one another, Frodo tangled a hand in Sam's gilded hair, and murmured into his ear, “We make a perfect pair.”

“Oh, aye,” Sam's voice was growing ragged with a scattering focus and considerable effort to do more than moan, “perfect, you and me. Together.”

Hearing this made Frodo's heart swell to twice its normal size, he thought. Since his birthday – his coming of age – he supposed, a worry had been gnawing at him that a new line had been drawn between him and Sam; one that would not be easy to cross for some ten years, yet. It had been Sam to come to him first, offering flower-favors and shy kisses through the window, and Sam to offer as a gift, their first tup in the apple orchard nearing two years before. Yet, knowing this as he did, Frodo had worried that the sudden passage of a milestone for him alone, might make Sam feel he'd been left too far behind – especially now that Bilbo had gone, and Frodo was by all accounts his own Master.

Even though they had shared fleeting moments of passion before now, it had felt through the end of autumn they'd still not had a moment to truly speak or love, with Sam being off helping with the harvests.

Thus, at Sam's words now, the ease of worried knots Frodo had tied around his heart were finally undone. Sam wanted him still; why, thought him like the Moon, and felt them perfect together. Frodo would've felt far more sentimental and serenely joyful, had he and Sam not begun fervently squirming together to satisfy their desires.

“Sam,” Frodo grasped one of Sam's shoulder's to calm him – for a moment, “I have some oil, if you like.” A sheen of sweat was now covering the both of them, and while Frodo enjoyed frotting, he liked best when there was something more substantially slick between them.

“Ah,” Sam swallowed, taking a moment to understand the concept – as it hadn't yet crossed his mind. “Y-yes, that I would,” he managed at last, untangling himself from Frodo and taking a step back.

On his way past to the nightstand, Frodo affectionately pinched Sam's bottom, and was given due justice for the act once he had the bottle in-hand. It quickly found its way to Sam's, as Frodo found himself against the wall again, his own bottom being palmed and squeezed this time.

After it was suitably kneaded, Sam stepped back again to open the bottle, at which point he looked up with a lost and abashed expression. “Ehm, just a frot, or...?”

Leaned against the wall, breathing and thinking as he looked Sam up and down, admiring him shamelessly. The sweat on his shoulders glittered like diamonds in the light cast by the fire. “I think,” he said shortly, licking his lips, “we could try more, still standing up...” At Sam's quirked eyebrow, Frodo lifted one of his legs, gathering his foreleg and foot in his arms to illustrate. “Hold me up, and...? If you like?” Long ago with his cousins, Frodo had known a great number of adventurous positions; young lads can get quite inventive when it comes to pleasuring themselves (along with a partner, when they're remembered). Frodo's only concern was whether or not he was still flexible enough to realistically manage it again.

Sam's eyes widened following a surprised blink. “You can do that?”

“If one's determined, and... willing enough, I think yes.” Sam only contemplated the logistics long enough for Frodo to let go of his leg. After that, Frodo found himself bracing against the wall while Sam's fingers eased the way inside him. The blood rushing through Frodo's ears seemed even louder than the crackling hearth, but both were dwarfed by the moans he heard keening in his own voice as Sam pressed even to the very sweetest spot inside him.

Frodo was left panting and shaking as Sam's fingers withdrew and he turned around, bracing himself again against the wall as Sam carefully lifted his leg under the knee. “You'll say if it's too much, aye?” he asked, settling Frodo's bent leg in the crook of his elbow.

“Yes,” Frodo agreed, by this time willing to agree to anything if it got Sam inside him more quickly, “of course.” He was twisting a bit already to widen his hips as much as he might, and though he was already feeling a stretch in his hip, it was nothing his desire didn't overwhelm.

There was little his desire couldn't overwhelm, by the time Sam's member eased inside him. The stretch to accommodate him, paired with the stretch of his hip melted into one sensation Frodo could not fully discern between pleasure or pain – but he was quite certain there was too much pleasure for there to be any pain.

A flood of thoughts from spring returned to him in a tidal wave, of everything now free to him with Sam, while snow blanketed the world. Sam wouldn't be in the garden in the summer, shirtless for the heat, for months yet at least, nor would there be a neighbor strolling along the lane to see scratches down his back, nor love bites on his neck.

Frodo did not recall this so much in words, as remembering he no longer had to repress the impulse to dig more than the pads of his fingers into Sam's back – and so, he allowed himself to use his nails. He strove not to press so hard as to draw blood, and from Sam's eager moans in response to the touch, pleasure swirled through Frodo's mind that he'd found an acceptable balance of pressure.

Subsequently, when their mouths were not locked in kisses with one another, and Frodo once found his lips against Sam's neck, and without much thinking, offered several preceding licks – earning him the salty taste of Sam's sweat. After which, he gathered a small bit of Sam's skin between his lips, and sucked – just hard enough to bruise; just enough to at last mark Sam as his. After releasing it, he gave it a final lick of satisfaction; it was small and red, now, and he was pleased to think it was minute enough to need but a scarf, if it needed anything to hide it.

By this time Sam's thrusts were growing deeper and longer, and he was moaning – the only clear thing being Frodo's name – loud enough to echo through the room. The pressure Frodo felt – his cock being held and squeezed between their bellies as it was – grew far firmer in kind, and again Frodo heard his voice crying out Sam's name, louder and louder until he felt certain it shook the windows. Beyond which, snow still fell, in the outside world where all was still a quiet winter's night.

The tautness gathering in his body was remarkably strange to experience still standing, as his raised leg clamped suddenly around Sam, while the rest of him stiffened like a bow being drawn against the wall. His grip tightened fiercely – a hand in Sam's hair, the other somewhere on his back – and with a final cry of Sam's name, he came, coating both of their fronts thoroughly with his seed.

Sam in turn held Frodo even more tightly as he came, sobbing Frodo's name in kind as his body shook with release.

More or less, they melted on their feet, sagging against one another as Sam gently released Frodo's leg, and nuzzling and rubbing up and down one another's backs, they shared a contented sigh. Sam felt strong and hot in Frodo's arms, and he knew he would love nothing more than to spend each and every night in his arms.

They nosed and kissed one another, murmuring words of adoration and love, before stumbling over to and collapsing on the bed, after which they resettled into one another's arms. “Oh, I do love you.” Frodo murmured, nosing Sam's chest. “My Sun.”

“And your Sun loves his Moon, too.” Sam replied in a rumbling whisper, kissing the top of Frodo's head.

They fell asleep in one another's arms, as the fire dwindled to embers, and snow continued to fall silently in the night beyond.


End file.
